


unattainable

by hondayota



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, blue and gansey are getting married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hondayota/pseuds/hondayota
Summary: Helen Gansey has been on thousands of dates and never found a girl who really interested her. Orla is always the pursed, never the pursuer, and is coming to terms with the fact that she's never been in love. But when Blue and Gansey get engaged and Blue asks both of them to be her bridesmaids, they're thrown together over and over again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this chapter is just like setting stuff up like gansey and helen talking and then blue and orla and idk how many chapters there will be but i definitely want to develop this story all the way through even if no one is reading it but me bc i want this content but like if ur also into it that would b cool too.

“But do you think she’ll say yes? Are you sure she will?”

Helen plucked her head from where it was resting on her brother’s shoulder and shifted her body so she was sitting cross legged on the couch, facing him. She paused the movie and tugged on his arm until he turned to her, eyes shining with worry that clearly wasn’t over the plot of Captain America. They sat for a moment, both in t-shirts and sweatpants that their mother hated because they could afford whatever pajamas they wanted and they chose from the novelty section at Target, and Helen watched Gansey take a deep breath. 

“Dick,” Helen said, just to watch the glare he shot her, “look at me.”

“We’re looking at each other, Helen.” 

“Really look. Right in my eyes. Good, okay. Now listen. We’ve been over this, remember? There is absolutely no way your little midget girlfriend won’t say yes when you ask her to marry you, got it?”

“But what if –” Gansey started, and Helen clapped a hand over his mouth, like she had done when they were children and he was about to spoil a game of hide and seek at one of their mother’s political events by speaking, before they were too old for fun but just old enough for networking.

“No ‘what ifs.’ She’s going to say yes, kid. She’d be crazy not to, because even though you’ve been a pain since you were born and I was no longer the favorite child, you’re incredible. Case in point, I could’ve been on a date tonight, but I cancelled because you were coming to town and I’d never miss our movie night.” Really, Helen had cancelled because the girl she’d been meeting wasn’t very interesting, but the embellishment seemed necessary. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the girl, but she wasn’t enough somehow, wasn’t anything to capture Helen’s attention and hold it. “I miss you when you go away, and not just because then mom has no one else to bother or yell at about plates. I just miss talking to you. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that. Because you’re this great guy. You care so much about everything you do, you put all your effort in, always, and so I know if you care about Blue as much as anything else…”

“More. I care about her more.” Helen’s heart ached at the look on Gansey’s face, the pure light in his smile as he thought about Blue and what he felt for her, the honeyed cadence of his voice as he said it out loud. Helen had never felt anything like that. She had never let herself get so attached, so intertwined. Gansey was brave. Helen looked pretty at political fundraisers. 

“If you care about her more, then there’s no possible scenario in which she says no. Not one. If she does, she’ll have to deal with me, so.”  
Gansey reached over to wrap his arms around her, quickly. His cheeks were wet with happy tears. “Thanks, Helen. I think I’m just nervous. That’s basically what Adam said, too, when I asked him about it, but without the ‘little midget girlfriend’ part. But Ronan, I think, used those exact words.”

“I've always thought Ronan had some admirable views.” At the look of concern Gansey shot her, she waved him off. “Oh, don’t worry. You know I love Blue. She’s got spunk. She's got style. She's got other great qualities that start with s. But really, Blue and I talk now. Don’t worry, it’s mostly not about you. We’re friends. If anyone's good enough for you, it's her.” 

Gansey laughed, and it reminded Helen of the way he snuck her cookies from the kids table when she grew too old to sit with him. “Hey, hands off my girlfriend,” he joked, “You’re prettier than me. You might not be invited to the wedding if you keep confessing your love for the bride.” 

“Jesus, you’re a nerd,” Helen groaned, restarting the movie. 

Later, as the credits rolled, Gansey whispered: “Helen?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I’ve missed a lot of movie nights because of everything. I miss you when I’m gone, too.”

Helen clicked the next Marvel movie in their queue and smiled at him through the dark.“No problem. We’ll just have to marathon whenever you can.” 

//////////

Orla knew the moment Blue returned to Fox Way because the house screamed. Probably it was an aunt, or a cousin, or Calla, but the force of it sounded like the house itself shaking out its bones to welcome Blue and her new engagement ring. It shouted “CONGRATULATIONS” as soon as Blue stepped through the door, and her indignant “You all knew!” floated up the stairs to the phone/sewing/cat room where Orla sat, one hand on the orange phone and one absently stroking the Persian on her lap, holding down the fort while everyone bothered Blue.

“Oh, Blue,” she heard Maura say, “Would you really have wanted us to ruin the surprise?” 

“No, mom. But you could've said ‘don't wear the same feather shirt you wore that time you liked Adam and he came to the house and you embarrassed yourself today, you'll regret it.’ That could've been useful!”

//////////

“I can't believe you're getting married. I kind of can, because it's Richie Rich, and you know he's your one true love, but still. You're only twenty. Are you totally sure?” Orla dragged the brush across Blue’s thumbnail, painting a clear base coat before she added color. Blue had joined her in the phone/sewing/cat room as soon as she'd escaped downstairs.

“Yes,” Blue said, usual layers of sarcasm gone from her tongue, “I'm always sure about him. Even without the curse, without everything that's happened to tell me that Gansey is my true love, I’d know. And I know I'm young but after...he died, I can't waste any time ever again.”

Orla held out a polish bottle to her cousin, questioning. Blue sucked in a breath and nodded, and Orla began applying the color. It was a mix of greens, swirled so you never saw the same shade twice when it caught the light. It was Cabeswater, as Orla had seen it. It was Gansey, and Blue, and Ronan and Adam and Noah and Henry. Orla had mixed it herself from at least twelve different dollar store bottles and saved it for something special. She didn’t think anything could beat out the smile on Blue’s face whenever she glanced at her new ring for the perfect occasion. 

“How,” Orla paused to blow on Blue’s nails, to think of how to phrase the question, “how do you know you love him?” 

“I'm happy when I'm with him. That sounds – not enough, I know, because I’m happy with a lot of people, but it is. I'm happy with Gansey, even when I shouldn't be. And when I'm not happy he's still there. And we can kiss now, Orla, we’re allowed to kiss! And he, I don't know, keeps extra hair clips at Monmouth for when I forget, and he calls me and when I hear his voice and I feel like I do when I'm under the stars.” 

Over the years, Orla had been the recipient of more than her fair share of proposals. She was beautiful, and confident, and she had turned each man down with soft eyes and a hard edge in her voice. She was the subject of poems and portraits and love-at-first-sight from any number of people. Her room was lined with gifts from admirers: candy boxed and flowers and all types of jewelry, and as Orla Sargent listened to Blue talk, she knew she had never been in love, and she didn't know if she ever would be. She didn't know how to put any of this into words, so she said:“Wow, his dick must be huge.” 

Blue jerked her hand back and a blush spread over her features. She glared at Orla. “You know, it's possible to like someone, love someone for who they are as a person…”

“Or as a magical forest, like your boyfriend,” Orla smirked, ducking away from Blue’s smack. “Don't mess up your nails.”

“Will you be my maid of honor?”

Orla put down the bottle she held and grabbed Blue’s unpainted hand. “What?”

“Will you? You’re annoying and obnoxious and you made me a nail polish color that feels like Cabeswater, and I love you.”

“Of course.” 

Blue pulled Orla into a tight hug, careful to keep her still-drying nails clear of Orla’s long hair. “I'm going to use the phone,” Blue said. “I want to ask everyone else if they'll be bridesmaids.”

“Who else?”

Blue ticked them off on her fingers. “Cialina, Angelina and Lizzy from college, Calla, and Gansey’s sister.”

“He's got a sister?” 

“Helen.” Blue smiled. “I think you'd like her.”


	2. Chapter 2

Helen wound her fingers in the ends of her hair as she paced, wearing stiletto tracks into the boards of the living room. She took a deep breath and schooled her features into a calm yet attentive expression before turning toward the couch. 

“You should put that up,” her mother said. Mrs. Gansey read a home improvement magazine, and her face didn't change unless to show the appropriate amount of interest in high-end chairs and dining tables. She sat on the same couch Helen and Gansey had a few weeks before during their movie night, much more composed than either of them could ever hope to be. She looked the way Helen was supposed to, professional and sharp-eyed, sure of herself. There was no hint of what she was really feeling. 

Helen had practiced that face in the mirror since she was ten and realized she was too old to cry because she wanted to go home during Congressional campaign photo shoots, when she realized she needed to be “on” a hundred percent of the time. There was no room for breakdowns in politics, even on the sidelines or backstage. Everything came out somehow, so Helen had learned to use herself like a puppet, pulling on strings when she needed to come alive. Helen lived half a life; she had glued herself together when she was young and hadn’t fallen apart since. The closest she got were stolen moments with her brother or trips in her helicopter, when the pressure of Washington was a doll in a toy city far beneath her. But her walls could never break down completely, especially in her own home. Finally, she processed her mother’s words. 

“Pardon?”

“Your hair. You should put it up before the Senator and his wife arrive. You play with it when you wear it down, it makes you seem nervous. We have nothing to be nervous about, darling, and we don’t want the Senator to think we do, do we?”

“No.” Helen swept her brown hair into a practiced knot at the nape of her neck and folded her hands behind her back. 

Her mother smiled without showing teeth. 

“Much better. Now go change for dinner.”

/////////

Orla stretched her arms over her head and arched her back off the grass as she yawned, closing her eyes against the late-afternoon sun. Light bounced off the foil reflector she had balanced on her chest, and she adjusted it to hit the lower half of her body and even out the tan on her legs. 

“Orla!” Maura hollered from the doorway. “There’s a delivery for you. Also, your boyfriend has called the house at least sixteen times and he won’t understand when I tell him we need the phone for clients. Apparently he ‘needs to hear the musical sound of your voice.’ Come deal with that before your 6:30 appointment.”

“Sing him a song,” quipped Calla, behind her. 

Orla shook relaxation out of her limbs and stood up. She let herself soak in the feeling of warmth on her skin, ran a hand through her hair to give it volume. She rolled her eyes. “I dumped him weeks ago and he can’t seem to let go. I mean,” She waved a hand up and down her body, “I understand why, but still. He should work on his attachment issues.”

“I think it’s sweet,” said Maura.

“I think he should stop hogging the phone line,” said Calla. 

Orla settled into the chair in the phone/sewing/cat room and unwrapped the package on her lap as she hit redial. She hadn’t bothered memorizing David’s number. It had taken a few dates before she could even remember his name. He picked up after one ring. 

“Take me back,” he gasped. 

Orla studied her yellow-painted nails. “No.” 

“Did you get my gift?”

“Yes, David.” Orla blew out a long breath. “You know, traditionally, an engagement ring is delivered in person, with a speech and not a desperate, barely-readable note.”

“You refused to meet with me!”

“I’m not into you anymore. Move on.”

“I don’t know how.” David’s voice on the other end sounded close to tears, and Orla could picture the ugly way his face twisted as he cried. 

“Learn. Find someone new. Look, I’ll send the ring back, so you won’t even have to buy a new one.”

“Fine,” David said, and he was definitely crying now, “Fine, I’ll try to forget about you. But before I can, tell me one thing. Was any of it real? Did you ever love me?”

Orla considered this. She thought of all the dates they had gone on and how she could barely picture them now, of how she looked forward to kissing him more than actually talking. She thought of how none of the gifts he’d sent had ever tugged on her heart, how she hadn’t even displayed them in her room yet, how none of them felt like he really knew her. She thought of how Blue talked about Gansey. 

“No, probably not,” Orla said, and hung up the phone. 

//////////

Helen had been listening to the Senator’s son talk about the lunch he’d had in France for what felt like years even though dinner had been over for an hour, and her plaster smile had yet to slip, but she worried he would see the disinterest in her eyes. At this point it wasn’t even just disinterest, it was genuine anger that he was still, somehow, going on about croutons, and Helen was grateful for her practiced expressions. Sometimes detachment came in handy, especially at moments like this, when a summer full of conversations just like this ones loomed ahead of her and she wanted to scream. Her mother’s voice cut through the son’s, and Helen had never been happier to hear it. 

“Helen, dear,” Mrs. Gansey said, dripping with false hospitality, “I was just telling the Senator that he simply must come to Dickie’s wedding, but the date slipped my mind, and the location. Do you remember them?”

“I don’t know. He and Blue haven’t let us know when it is, and I don’t think they’ve decided on a venue yet.” 

“I’m sure they have,” said Mrs. Gansey, lest she look disconnected from her son, “Why don’t you call Blue and check.” 

“I’ll call right now.” Helen locked eyes with her mother, who nodded, and fished her cell phone from her pocket as she stood from her chair. 

“Blue. What an interesting name,” the Senator said, and it was clear that “interesting” meant “politically problematic.”

Helen shut the door to the dining room behind her and leaned against the wall in the hallway. She sighed and dialed Fox Way, already rehearsing an apology for bothering Blue while she was probably busy with wedding preparations. She still wasn’t entirely sure why Blue had asked her to be a bridesmaid; even though they were closer now the other names Blue had listed all seemed more personal, and Helen wondered if she was just an add-on for Gansey’s benefit. 

“Hello?” said the voice on the other end of the line, and the way it was enunciated made Helen think she had been connected for longer than she’d realized. “David,” it continued, “Stop calling me.”

“Is that really how you answer the phone?” The edge in Helen’s voice surprised her, but she was used to efficiency and this conversation was not what she needed when her mother was expecting her. 

“Is that really how you talk to strangers? I have a feeling your cards are going to say something about manners.”

“What?” Helen drummed her fingers on her leg, impatient. 

“If you’re not David, thank god, I’m assuming this is my 6:30 appointment calling half an hour late.” 

“What?” Helen said again. “No. This is Helen.Gansey. I’m calling to ask Blue about the wedding.”

“What do you need to know?”

“Can you just put Blue on the phone, please?” 

“Why would I do that, Helen Gansey.”

“I’m calling to ask her about the wedding.”

“I’m the maid of honor,” said the girl on the other end, smugly, “I can answer anything.”

“Fine,” Helen snapped. “When is it?”

“July 19th.” 

“Where?” 

“They haven’t picked a venue yet.”

Helen groaned, because she knew her mother would never take “to be determined” for an answer. “Would Blue be willing to look at some options in D.C. tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask.” There was muffled yelling from the other side of the line, and even more muffled yelling in response, and a few shuffling noises, and then, “Yes. She’s available all afternoon.” 

“Great.” Helen paused, considering. “Why don’t you come too. The maid of honor can help make decisions if needed. And Blue’s your cousin, she probably values your opinion.”

There was a soft laugh, the kind that seemed surprised it was happening. “Who knows. But yes, I’ll come, just in case by some twist of fate she really does.” 

“Great,” Helen said again, “I’ll pick you both up tomorrow at two. Your name is Orla, right?” This was a trick Helen had learned from her mother: use a name at the end of a conversation to make a person feel important, impressed that you knew them. 

“Orla,” the girl confirmed, and Helen felt like she knew exactly what Helen was trying to pull, and wasn’t about to let herself fall for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thanks so much for reading and comments and kudos are always appreciated, check out my other fics or hmu on tumblr @ nymphhadora!!
> 
> i promise next chapter helen and orla will actually meet. i swear i have this fic planned out, y'all. honestly i might update again tomorrow cause i have free time and i'm enjoying writing this a lot!! i think the next chapter will be longer, too


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i should be studying for the euro ap
> 
> all these chapters are unbeta-ed and finished very early in the morning so i hope the characterization and story make sense!

Orla Sargent was fully prepared to hate Helen Gansey, if only for making her wait outside Gansey’s stupid warehouse-apartment in the drowning Henrietta heat and ruining her hair.  
Orla leaned against the fender of Ronan’s BMW, because he was with Adam at The Barns and couldn’t yell at her for it, and Gansey was too busy holding Blue’s hand to care. Orla hadn’t been aware Gansey was joining them until he had arrived at Fox Way in the Pig and announced that Helen would be at Monmouth at two. It was now 2:30 and they had been sitting outside for at least half an hour, which gave Orla plenty of time to construct a mental picture of the girl undoing all the straightening iron’s work. 

Because Orla’s knowledge of Helen extended as far as: rude on the phone and late for wedding venue touring, she liked to think of Helen as Gansey’s Cinderella-type ugly stepsister. Helen would arrive in a new but not impressive car, get a hug from Gansey and a compulsory half-smile from Blue, and Orla would look at her mousy hair and too-big teeth and almost feel bad for hating her, until she opened her mouth and said something so rich and ridiculous that all the guilt would disappear. Helen would drive them to venues that no one liked but herself, and Orla would ignore her and flirt with caterers, and Blue would confess that she only had only included Helen in her bridal party as a favor to Gansey. Over the phone, Helen had felt nervous, and Orla attributed it to the fact that Helen knew she repelled people. She thought of Blue saying “I think you’d like her” and laughed. 

Most people thought Orla was a bitch. They looked at her scorned lovers and the broken hearts trailing behind her and they thought, mean. Heartlesss. But Orla wasn’t mean, she was honest, and the way she criticized others was nothing compared to what she thought about herself. She could see every flaw in every relationship before it occurred, every possible way she could get hurt, lose herself. She lingered in the lead-up, the chase, the moment just before a kiss, when there was no way she could hurt herself yet. Orla knew it was why she had never been in love, and she also knew that, in Helen Gansey’s case, there was an exception. Helen had been a bitch over the phone, so Orla was a bitch now. Orla checked her reflection in the BMW’s side mirror and made a face at the size of her hair. 

“Oh,” Gansey said suddenly, “Here’s Helen.” 

“Finally,” said Orla. She craned her neck to peer down the street, which was empty in both directions. “Where?”

Gansey raised an arm to the sky, where a sleek helicopter made its way toward Monmouth. The noise followed as soon as Orla realized what she was looking at, splitting through the air. Orla yelled over it. “You have a helicopter?” 

“Helen does.” Orla pushed herself into a full standing position, steady despite the height of her platforms, and scoffed.

The helicopter landed in the parking lot and the door swung open. The pilot climbed out, and Orla stood on her toes to see in the windows, looking for Helen. The pilot embraced Gansey and gave Blue a warm smile before turning to Orla. 

Orla remembered lying in bed with an ex-boyfriend, his hand tangled in her shirt, and the way he called her a goddess. She had always thought the compliment was too much of an exaggeration, even for her, because no one could capture the feeling she got looking at old statues of Aphrodite or Artemis. No one could be that impressive, so completely on another plain of being. As soon as the pilot smiled at her, Orla ate her words. 

The girl looked like a Roman ruin come to life. Her brown hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail at the top of her head, leaving the angles of her face exposed to tangle the light. Her cheekbones were dusted with just enough highlighter to make them stand out, and her nose slanted sharply downward, like the side of a Virginia mountain. Orla had the sudden urge to run the pads of her fingers over the girl’s jaw line just to see if it felt the way it looked: carefully chiseled marble edged with silver. Like any statue, she wasn’t perfect. There was suggestion of faded acne scars visible under her smooth foundation, a slight unevenness to her lips as she quirked them at Orla. It only made her more beautiful. Looking at her, Orla felt helpless, the kind of person who would go to any lengths for just another smile, just another glance. She felt like the kind of person who sent flowers, and it sent a shock of worry through her, that the girl could change Orla to her core without a word. The pilot stood straight up and regarded Orla with steely blue eyes and a that smile and held out a manicured hand for her to shake. 

“You must be Orla,” said the pilot, and Orla almost dropped her hand as she recognized the voice, because the girl in front of her seemed miles away from the one on the phone. 

“I’m Helen.” 

////////////////

Helen glanced at Orla’s reflection in the window as they flew. She had shut off the function that allowed her to hear Gansey and Blue in the back after Gansey’s third “I never get tired of Henrietta from up here,” followed by “I never get tired of kissing you, either,” and an exasperated sigh from Blue, but she could still hear Orla’s sharp intakes of breath as they passed over certain spots in the town. 

Helen couldn’t help but smile at the freedom she felt when everything was small and insignificant below her. She loved flying because on the ground she always felt like she was falling and in the air was the one time she was sure she wouldn’t. She especially loved flying with other people who appreciated the disconnect as much as she did, who inhaled the Earth without fear. 

“So,” Helen heard Orla say in her headset, “Where are we right now?” Orla kept her eyes locked outside the window, like she was afraid to miss anything, or afraid to look at Helen. 

Helen got that fear a lot. She was intimidating, she supposed, because no one knew what she was thinking, and people didn’t like being made to guess. So she was looked at through a half-squint, or at an angle, more like a math problem than a person. Her mother would be so pleased. 

“Outskirts of D.C., when it still looks like country and not just power. We’re almost to the first venue.” 

“Hm,” murmured Orla. She fell back into silence. 

Helen wondered what she had said wrong. It was never a question of if she had said anything, just what the offensive comment was. A life on the arm of one politician or another had conditioned into her that anytime the conversation halted, she was at fault, and she had to pick it up off the ground and fix things. Maybe it was calling the land below them country – it wasn’t far off from the way Henrietta looked, and it could have offended Orla that Helen saw it as rural. Helen made a note to be more careful, more collected around Orla in the future. 

It was just so easy to forget. That was the problem. Up here, without everything weighing her down, Helen was closest to herself, who she'd been before she became Mrs. Gansey's Congressional Poster Child. She was a girl playing dolls without worry of messing up. Usually, when she took new people in the helicopter, she slid back behind her mask, just in case. But something about the way Orla watched the world pass with her amber eyes wide under long lashes, something about the way she absently pushed her hair over her shoulder so it didn't obstruct the view, something about her sighs in Helen's headset as they passed over mountains and rivers, something about all that sent shivers through Helen's guard. She wasn't sure what to do about Orla, because Orla was interesting, and interesting was dangerous. She had to keep her alarm system sharp, keep her wariness honed down to her bones.

////////////////

Helen showed them to three places she introduced to Gansey as “mom and dad insist you'll love this one,” to which Gansey grimaced and Helen gave a sympathetic shrug. Each of them was bigger than the last, had more spiral, or bay windows, or ballrooms. Orla couldn't imagine why anyone could need four ballrooms, but wealth was a locked room and she didn't have the key. The estates looked like a dream, and Blue and Gansey looked like they were living a nightmare, clinging tight to each other's hands as they eyed yet another brocade door handle. 

Orla spent the venue tours and the helicopter rides between them in uncharacteristic silence. It wasn't that she had nothing to say; her tongue hummed with comments on the lifestyle of the people who owned these places, on the way WASP seemed written over every surface. It was just that every time Orla opened her mouth to speak and Helen's eyes met hers, bright with the spark of a rising laugh, Orla found herself unsure. Orla had no idea what to say to Helen, because when Helen looked at her, Orla froze. Her body sang with a desire to please Helen, to come across as witty and fascinating, someone a statue of Aphrodite would look at twice. So Orla stayed silent, burying herself in the unfamiliar feeling of insecurity and picturing the way Helen's hair moved in the wind of the helicopter. It made her uneasy, the way she already wanted Helen to notice her how she had never wanted anyone she'd dated to, but Orla hoped that if she kept quiet, didn't let herself actually learn anything about Helen past the structure of her face, the feelings would pass.  
Finally, after Blue and Gansey looked completely hopeless and like their insides had been scraped out by marble flooring, Helen landed on a large expanse of grass behind a comparatively small house. 

"Did mom and dad pick this one, too?" Gansey stood with his back to the house, surveying the garden. Blue's face matched the note of confusion in his voice.

"No, this one's mine," Helen told him. She grinned, and Orla's heart fluttered. "I thought it was more up your alley. Follow me." 

Helen led them over the grass, down a winding path that led into the trees, over a small bridge spanning a literal babbling brook. Orla lost herself watching the leaves twirl in the breeze, paused to dip her toes into the sun-warmed water. She didn't realize the others had come to a halt until Blue gasped. When Orla looked up, she was standing in a clearing, and Blue had tears running down her face. Gansey spread his arms out to either side and spun in a slow circle, face titled toward the light filtering through the branches. The clearing was large, and the trees grew so close together they seem woven, giving the affect of being inside an ancient basket. Orla felt as though they had stepped into another time, some land out of a fairytale. It felt like Cabeswater, which was impossible, because Helen didn't know about Cabeswater, but the truth often looked impossible at certain angles.

"I was thinking we could put chairs here," Helen said, waving an arm toward the widest area of the clearing, "and you two would stand by those trees there. And we could have the reception in the mansion, so mom and dad won't have anything to complain about."  
Blue wrapped Helen in a long hug, and Gansey brushed his fingers over the bark of a nearby tree. "It's perfect," Blue said. "Thank you, Helen." 

"God," Gansey said, reverent, "this is impossible."

"It reminded me of you." Helen swiped her thumb over Gansey's cheek, clearing a tear Orla hadn't even seen fall. Gansey looked at her like he had looked at the trees, the creek, like his own sister was something crafted from magic, from the torn threads of expectation, and Orla realized that she definitely did not hate Helen Gansey, and she didn’t know what to do about that fact. 

/////////////////

If Helen was being honest with herself, she thought as she flew back to the Gansey estate, all her past relationship failures could be attributed to politics. Everything in politics was calculated, planned according to what would most benefit the person in power, or hoping for power. Emotion was an afterthought politicians threw in so the public could relate. Growing up, Helen’s model for the perfect relationship was her parents. She remembered curling at the foot of their bed as a child, listening to her mother tell the story of how they were thrown together at a fundraiser, not by fate but by power-hungry parents, and how they fell in love after two years of marriage and three years of political prosperity. The moral of the fairytale: fall in love with ambition first and personality last, and don’t make connections that will drag you down. 

Helen had been making connections that would drag her family down politically since her first kiss, her lips pressed to Sarah Harker’s behind the cafeteria during lunch. Ganseys didn’t kiss people they shouldn’t no matter how right it felt in their hearts. Helen had transferred schools a week after the kiss, and Mrs. Gansey had remained a respected part of the republican party. So Helen had withdrawn herself from relationships, because she was taking twice the risk of anyone else by going on dates at all. She let everything rely on initial impressions, on the spark she felt when their eyes met over dinner, or coffee, and if there was nothing there interesting enough to capture Helen right away, there was nothing there worth the risk. 

Orla was interesting. She gave Helen the same feeling as riding in the helicopter did, like Helen’s hands were twined in the clouds. And it was insane to feel that way about someone she had met that day, but Helen had rebuilt her entire life around firsts, because there was no room for anything else. When Helen thought about Orla, she felt like maybe it was a lapse in judgement. Yes, Orla was stunning, with legs that reached for years and lips like the ones Helen pictured when she imagined really falling for someone, pink-tinted and plush, but Helen couldn’t throw everything away for legs and lips, even if she wanted too. 

Orla was the bronze plate Helen had purchased for her mother’s birthday, gorgeous and new and something that made Helen feel different, and ultimately a terrible idea. Helen had the plate in her room, now, after arguing over it for months, because she still loved it. The helicopter touched down on the landing pad behind the Gansey house. 

“How was it?” Mrs. Gansey cornered Helen the moment she walked into the house, before Helen had even hung her coat in the foyer closet. Her fingers were halfway to the hanger and her thoughts were still on Orla Sargent when her mother interrupted. 

"They chose a venue, so I'd say it was a successful trip." Helen hated the way her voice changed when she answered her mother, the way it became less real and more "I'm Helen Gansey and I approve this message." She pushed Orla to the back of her mind, because a girl was the last thing she needed to bring up. 

"One of the houses your father and I recommended?" 

"No." Helen took a deep breath. "One I found, actually." 

"Oh." The concern in Mrs. Gansey's voice was only evident because Helen had lived with her for twenty five years, and had learned to distinguish its slightly higher timbre. 

"It's very nice," Helen said, though she wasn't sure if she was assuring her mother or herself, because nothing sent doubt through her skin like her mother's concern voice. She kept her face unreadable, but her mother's was always more so. "I'll email you some photos, but I'm sure you'll approve." 

"Ah," said Mrs. Gansey. Helen took this as a cue to leave. She finished hanging her coat and started up the stairs to her room. "Wait." Mrs. Gansey placed a hand on Helen's arm, compelling Helen to turn back toward her. "I was thinking about the Senator's son tonight. Jonathan?" 

Croutons flashed in front of Helen's eyes. "Yes?" 

"He would be a perfect escort to Dick's wedding, don't you think? A nice young man for you to be seen with?" Mrs. Gansey's questions never sounded like questions. They sounded like laws. 

Helen felt her whole body tense. "Why should I be seen with a nice young man?"

Mrs. Gansey released Helen's arm but not her gaze. "People talk, Helen." 

“About me?”

“About all young women of a certain age, who are single and not often photographed in public with respectable young men.”

Helen blew out a deep breath. “I thought, finally, that you were okay with this. With me.” 

“I am.” Mrs. Gansey tucked a piece of hair behind Helen’s ear, rested her hand on Helen’s cheek for a moment. “The voters are not. Just...think of them, and bring a nice boy to the wedding. See you in the morning.” Mrs. Gansey swept out of the room, trailing rose perfume behind her. 

Helen sank onto the end of her bed, defeated, because the Ganseys had won again, because she wanted to cry and nothing would come out. Even now, she felt like she was under surveillance. She was afraid to move because she was falling apart beneath her facade, and she didn’t want it to shift. Helen’s body was splitting like tectonic plates, and she was sitting at the epicenter of disaster. She wanted to scream. She wanted to show up to Gansey’s wedding with a girl, any girl, just to feel something. She had always been fascinated by Gansey’s friends, by Adam and Ronan, because they showed up to his mother’s parties hand in hand with identical glares. Every move they made was a dare. Every move Helen made was for someone else. 

Helen thought of how happy she had been in the woods, showing Blue and Gansey the location she had chosen, and of how quickly it had been sucked out of her, like losing breath when you hit the ground. She wanted to feel like that again, she realized, wanted that to be the norm, not the nothingness or desperation that usually flitted behind the walls she’d constructed. Helen was going to make that happen. She was tired of living without experiencing. 

Helen dug her phone out of her purse and dialed Fox Way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed this chapter!! i don't think i'll be updating as often bc i have to do school things but i rlly like writing this so who knows. 
> 
> things get better don't worry...i think the next chapter will be a series of phone calls and then maybe real life meetings? it depends how many phone conversations i want to write. thx for reading!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> helen and orla get to know each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh i'm sorry it's been so long!! i hope y'all like this chapter. as always this fic is unbeta'd bc im just trying to post it so i hope it's in character and enjoyable!!

“I knew you’d call.” 

Helen realized as soon as Orla picked up that she hadn’t thought past the dialing to the part where she’d actually have to say something to a girl she’d met earlier that day and knew nothing about. She wanted...she wasn’t sure what she wanted, but it ended with a feeling of lightness. Helen didn’t have relationships; she had hookups. They were less work, less worry, less space to screw up. She wanted to try something different, something more durable. She wanted to actually get to know Orla, not see her once and never again. Something about the day had made Helen want to take risks, to try. But clearly it didn’t matter, because Orla had known she was going to call. Because even in this, Helen had no control over her own life, and Orla had noticed Helen staring and was about to let her down the way Blue had told stories of Orla doing with countless others, and…

“Hello?” Orla drawled into the phone. Helen’s fingers tightened around her cell. “I can feel your nerves. There’s...something making your aura feel fluttery. You don’t know what’s going to happen, but you can tell something in your life will change. Is that something you want me to clear up in the reading? What’s going to happen?” 

Helen suddenly remembered that Orla was psychic. She still wasn’t sure how it worked, exactly, the magic, the energy. She didn’t know how much Orla could read from her, but she was afraid to find out, to be laid bare like that. Helen didn’t want to ruin a good thing before it had even started, just by being too much. She wondered if Orla knew what she was doing to her. She almost hung up. 

“How?” Helen said, finally. 

“This is 300 Fox Way, Orla speaking. I think you might have the wrong number.” Orla’s voice was dry in the way that sounded like holding back a laugh, and Helen realized she hadn’t said anything useful. 

“No,” Helen said. She took a deep breath, reminded herself of the stark contrast between being with Orla, even without talking, and being with Mrs. Gansey, with the voters. “I just meant, um, how did you know I was going to call?”

“Helen?” There was a note in Orla’s voice that Helen didn’t know how to interpret. “I didn’t. Know you were going to call, I mean. That’s just how I answer the phone. Clients love it.” 

Helen laughed because she could tell Orla was rolling her eyes at the clients, and for a moment she forgot everything. A weight lifted from her body, because there was still a chance to do this her own way. 

“One second, I’ll get Blue,” Orla continued. 

“Wait, don’t. I wanted...I called for you, actually. 

“Oh,” said Orla, “Why?” 

Helen had a million ways to reply, and she couldn’t bring her lips to form any of them. Because I didn’t get to hear enough of your voice today. Because I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Because you’re dreadfully fascinating; I can’t tell what you’re thinking and that’s good, and you make me flustered and unposed and real. Because I want to feel like there’s not something wrong with me all the time. Because somehow I’m willing to risk everything to call. 

“The bachelorette party!” Helen blurted. It was the first thing she thought of that they had common ground on; they both loved Blue and wanted to make everything around the wedding the best it could be. She wanted she and Orla to just have a conversation. To see if Helen’s attraction could really go somewhere. “I thought you might want help organizing? It can be a lot of work, and you’re probably busy, so.”

“How kind of you, helping out Blue’s poor working-class cousin so she doesn’t have to take time away from her job. If she did, she might die, right?” 

“God!” Helen fell back onto her comforter, scrubbed a hand across her face. “No, no, that’s not what I meant at all! I just. I’ve had to plan a few bachelorette parties myself, for college friends, and it eats up a lot of concentration, so splitting the work, or working together would be better.” Helen cut herself off when she realized Orla was laughing. 

“That was a joke, sorry. I couldn’t resist. But don’t worry about it, I know your heart’s in the right place. I mean, you’re Gansey’s sister, and no matter how many times he’s made a fool of himself, he still makes Blue happy.. I’d love some help. I’ve been thinking about it since Blue asked me to be her maid of honor weeks ago, and she’s approved none of my plans.” 

“Did they involve strippers?” The words slipped out before Helen could think, and she smiled at how easy talking felt. 

Orla made a noise of disdain. “No one ever lets me have any fun.” 

They talked for hours, bouncing various bachelorette party plans off each other, and Helen found herself laughing more than she had in weeks. All Orla’s ideas involved shopping sprees or road trips to Atlantic City or any number of other things that Blue would hate, and they grew more ridiculous as the call went on, like Orla was trying to get a response out of Helen. When Orla murmured that she had to hang up because she had an early appointment the next day, Helen’s cheeks were sore from smiling. 

“I’ll talk to you about the party another time?” 

Helen ran a hand through her hair and blew out a breath, telling herself that Orla’s question was perfectly natural after talking for so long, after Helen’s offer to help. Helen couldn’t quite be convinced. “Yes, definitely.”

“Well, call me.” 

“Wait, Orla?”

“That’s my name.”

“How did you know it was me? When you answered the phone?” 

“You sound like Lauren Bacall,” Orla yawned. “I had a huge crush on her when I was a kid. My mom made me watch The Big Sleep every movie night ‘cause she’s a huge Bogart fan, but I liked Lauren better. It was mostly because of her voice, like, wow.”

Helen’s breath caught in her throat. Orla was just tired; the comment didn’t mean anything. “Well, you can’t complain about that. That’s a quality movie.” 

“You’re right.” Orla yawned again, and Helen listened to the soft click of the phone as she hung up. 

Helen replayed the conversation in her head as she fell asleep, happy. 

/////////////

 

Orla lay sprawled on her bed, kicking herself for what she’d said about Helen’s voice. Really, about Lauren Bacall’s voice, and how Orla had fallen for it, and how Helen’s sounded just like it. Orla didn’t know what she’d been thinking. She would’ve liked to attribute the stupidity of her comment to sleep-deprivation, but she couldn’t even justify that to herself without scoffing. It made her nervous how Helen had ignored the part about the crush and focused on the movie, but the lightning in Orla’s body wasn’t because of Helen’s response. 

Normally, something ambiguously flirtatious like her phone call with Helen wouldn’t do anything for Orla. Normally, Orla wouldn’t be the one tripping over her words to make the girl laugh. Normally, Orla would be sitting on the other side of the phone, filing her nails, and making noises of affirmation at the appropriate time.   
Orla was used to being sought after, being the one up on a pedestal, admired, unreachable. She didn’t know what to do with the way Helen made her feel. Orla had pushed Helen to the back of her mind as soon as Gansey had dropped her back at Fox Way, but then Helen had called. She had called and been kind and offered herself to be there for Orla all the time. And she had laughed, and Orla had realized she would do anything to hear that laugh over and over again. They’d only known each other for a day, but as electricity coursed through Orla’s body, she admitted to herself that she was fucked.   
Orla Sargent had, for the first time in years, a real, undeniable, make-your-body-weak-and-your-mouth-move-without-your-brain crush, and she didn’t know what to do about it. 

///////////////

Helen found herself thinking of Orla constantly, the way her orange miniskirt looked against her dark skin, her boundless curls tumbling over muscled shoulders, her perfect nails that Helen wanted to bring to her mouth. Orla spilled into every corner of Helen’s mind, and for once Helen didn’t try to stop the thoughts of bodies against bodies, lips against lips. She wanted it for real this time, no more pretending. 

As the wedding drew closer, so did Mrs. Gansey’s mid-term elections, and Helen was thrown into a week of parties and debates and charity balls, and it became impossible to break away and call Orla, even for a minute. It wore on her determination, her newly-found resolve to attain something for herself, not her mother or the republican party. But Helen kept Orla in her mind, and she got through yet another conversation with yet another politician. 

“Isn’t she lovely?” The congressman asked, turning his phone so the Ganseys could see his new yacht, probably not his only yacht, in all her sea-faring glory. 

Mrs. Gansey nudged Helen discreetly, and Helen realized she was expected to answer. 

“Yes,” Helen agreed “She’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.” 

///////////////

Helen didn’t call for the next week. Orla counted the time and wished she hadn’t. She took calls with clients, painted the baby cousins’ nails, helped Maura put out the kitchen fire Jimi set, and looked at the clock more than she had in the past two years. She was still getting used to the feeling of wanting, reaching into the dark and grasping for something hard to name. Finally, when she couldn’t stand it anymore, Orla called Helen. 

 

“Hi, oh, from the wedding venue? Great! Mom, I’ve got to take this, it’s the man who owns the place Dick and Blue picked.” There was a pause, then, “Sorry. I’m at a surprise campaign fundraiser. Who knew they could last for multiple days and still be so goddamn hard to stand! Well, I did, but still. I wish I could’ve been talking to you instead.” 

“Sounds a lot less fun than a regular surprise party. Are you drunk at least?”

Helen drew in an exaggerated gasp. “At a political event? What if I slipped up and mentioned something about how mother let Dick roam the world without proper worry for his mental health? Or how my parents only hold hands at fundraisers? Or how I kissed a girl once in the very reception area we’re standing in? Ha! No, I’m not drunk. I’m holding half a glass of champagne so I don’t look uptight and sipping only every thirty minutes so I don’t look alcoholic.”

Orla was quiet, and Helen seemed glad for it. Her energy shifted, calming. She was by no means calm, but farther from the edge than she’d been when she answered the phone. Orla replayed “kissed a girl” over and over in her head in Helen’s rasping voice. If the phrase hadn’t been shoved between such awful things, Orla would have smiled. Instead, she took a deep breath and heard Helen follow suit on the other side of the line. 

“I’m sorry,” Orla said. 

“You didn’t do anything,” Helen said softly, “But thanks. I’m sorry too, really. I’ve been so busy with everything I couldn’t breathe, and I missed you. I’ve wanted to call you since I hung up last time.” 

Orla felt heat rush to her cheeks. She wrapped a strand of hair around her finger and tried not to grin like an idiot. “I wanted you to call, too.” 

They fell silent again, tangled in thought, and something heavy hung between them. Orla tapped her nails on the desk, though she was anything but bored. She would choose Helen’s silence over another date with someone she’d never love any day, and she was still working out what to do about that. Although she’d called with the intention of hearing Helen’s voice, she could tell that right now Helen just needed someone to understand without talking. For Helen, Orla could be that person. Finally, Helen sighed and said, “I’ve got to go back now.” 

“I’ll call you tomorrow? About the bachelorette party, I mean?”

“What if we talk about it in person? We can go gift shopping; I’m terrible at it. I need your help to think of something for Blue. The typical dining set doesn’t seem like her thing.” 

“Please get her a dining set. I’d pay to watch her unwrap that.” 

Helen gave a quiet laugh, and Orla was overjoyed to be the cause of it. 

“So I’ll pick you up at noon? Outside Monmouth.” Helen asked. 

“In the helicopter?” 

“Naturally.” 

The line stayed open a few more seconds before Helen ended the call. As Orla reached for Helen’s energy and found it warm, spilling into the phone/sewing/cat room and Orla herself, still guarded but gentler, somehow, it felt like an eternity, and one that Orla didn’t want to leave. 

///////////////

Helen focused more on Orla than landing, watching the other girl cross and uncross her legs as she waited, leaning against the outside wall of Monmouth. When the helicopter was close enough to whip Orla’s hair across her face, she turned her face to the sky and waved at the driver’s side, lips split into a wild grin. Helen couldn’t help but smile back, even though Orla couldn’t see through the dark windows. Before she climbed out, Helen took a second to marvel at how free the possibility of Orla made her feel, the idea that there was a girl out there who was worth everything. It was insane to feel so strongly about someone she’d barely spent any time with, but that was how Helen felt. Her attraction to Orla, both physically and mentally, wasn’t logical, but it was the only thing she’d acted on of her own accord for years, and Helen wanted it. 

“Hey.” 

Helen had spent too long in her head, as always, and Orla had tugged open the door to the helicopter and slid into the passenger seat. That was what so interested Helen about Orla: she did things with such ease, without any fear of judgement or admonishment. Orla put her mind to something and she accomplished it in six-inch-shoes laced with courage. 

“It’s good to see you,” Helen smiled. She reached over the center console to give Orla an awkward hug, relishing the feeling of her smooth skin. “I thought we could go to D.C. and find somewhere to shop?” 

It was frightening, the idea of going to the political center of America with a girl. Mrs. Gansey had drilled into Helen rules for good press, and tabloid pictures of two women together went against every one of them. It didn’t matter that nothing was going to happen, that they really were going to pick out gifts for her brother’s wedding; the danger of press was that tabloid writers somehow knew your innermost thoughts, desires. 

“There’s some vintage places down there I know Blue loves.” Orla glanced at Helen and Helen was lost in the melting gold of her eyes, and suddenly the press were far away. Orla grinned. “Good idea.” 

///////////////

 

“C’mon,” Orla teased, “just try it on!” 

Helen’s peals of laughter floated over the dressing-room door, which creaked slightly forward as she leaned on it for support. “No way,” she argued, “What even is that? A shirt? I’ve never worn anything like that in my life.” 

“Which is exactly why you should try it now!” Orla tossed the offending item of clothing, which was, in fact, a hideously ugly shirt, back to Helen’s side of the door. 

They had quickly found some pieces that Blue would be delighted to rip apart and bedazzle, or weave feathers into, or something equally odd and Blue-like. Orla had helped Helen pull pieces off the racks and determine whether they would work layered with what Blue already owned, and Helen claimed she already had a gift for Gansey at home that Orla could add her name to. It made Orla’s stomach flutter, the idea of giving a joint present, because wasn’t that something couples did? 

Though the clothes in the vintage shop were perfect for Blue, many of them were also mostly terrible, and after Helen and Orla had paid, the shopping trip had dissolved into a competition to see who could find the worst outfit for the other. Currently, Orla pressed a long sleeved silk shirt with nine different observable patterns on it into Helen’s hands over the top of the dressing room and tried not to think about Helen’s bare skin on the other side. Being with Helen was easier than Orla had anticipated; their conversation moved freely and happily, the shopping a welcome distraction from the way Helen’s hair brushed over her collarbones, the dangerous way her voice curled around every word. But now Helen was groaning “fine, fine, I’ll try it on,” and Orla could see her arms stretch over the top of the door as she took off her shirt, and things felt complicated again. 

“Okay,” Helen laughed. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

No, Orla thought. “Yes.” 

Helen pushed open the door and posed, letting the light catch the conflicting colors of the shirt and make it more garish than before. She locked eyes with Orla, straight-faced, until a laugh broke from Orla’s throat, and then they were both doubled over. 

“It really is a terrible shirt,” Orla gasped, between bursts of laughter. 

“So, so bad,” Helen agreed, steadying herself on Orla’s shoulder. Orla’s skin burned. When they had collected themselves, Helen continued, “Let’s find good outfits now. I already have one for you; I picked it up earlier when you were looking at pants.” 

“Alright.” Orla had a dress in mind for Helen, too, though she didn’t want to admit it. Quickly, she grabbed it from the rack and headed back to Helen. “Oh,” she realized, “I’ll go ask them to unlock another dressing room.” 

“Don’t bother. We can share this one.” Helen turned back into the dressing room as though her words weren’t monumental, weren’t making Orla’s heart race. 

The dressing room was cramped for one person. With two, their legs brushed at every movement, their arms tangled together as they reached for clothes. Orla pulled on her own dress and watched Helen in the mirror, dropping her gaze when Helen met her eyes. 

“Zip me up?” Helen prompted, turning her back to Orla. 

Orla swallowed, wiped the sweat from her hands. She let her fingers linger on the zipper too long, the back of her hand brushing the soft skin at the base of Helen’s spine and up toward her neck. Helen lifted her hair out of the way, wafting the smell of rosemary past Orla’s face. 

“Done,” Orla murmured. 

“Great,” Helen whispered. She turned so they were face to face, only inches from each other, and waved a hand at herself. “What do you think?” 

The dress Orla had chosen was dark green, to complement Helen’s eyes. The sleeves left everything above Helen’s breasts exposed, and Orla could see a spray of faded freckles across her chest. The skirt hugged Helen’s hips and skimmed just below her knee, leaving a fair amount of toned calf to catch Orla’s eye. Orla drew in a breath. Was this what falling for someone felt like? Like watching the world grow small from the helicopter? Like wishing for someone even when they were right in front of you? Like losing control and knowing yourself all at once? It was terrifying and overwhelming and Helen was an ocean washing over Orla, and it was all, somehow, fucking magnificent. 

“I liked the shirt better,” Orla managed, and Helen snorted. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Before she could think, Orla’s hands were tucking Helen’s hair behind her ears, smoothing it down at the edges. She adjusted a few strands at a time, drawing out the affair as long as possible. Her palm pressed against Helen’s cheek, and Helen’s eyes met Orla’s.

“It looks good with your hair like that,” Orla explained, but she didn’t remove her hands. 

“Orla…” Helen began, and Orla braced herself for the worst. 

A knock on the dressing room door made them jump apart. Orla jumped into the wall behind her, and Helen smirked. “Ladies, the store is closing in ten minutes, so make your final purchases now!” chirped the saleswoman. 

“Thank you!” Helen called back, the picture of innocence, collected. She looked to Orla. “It must be later than I thought. The house is closer than Henrietta. Would you mind coming back and I’ll drop you off tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comments and kudos are always appreciated!! up next: drinking, confessions, conversations with family

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading comments and kudos are always appreciated!! check out my other fics on here or hmu on tumblr @ nymphhadora


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